


Lucky I Met You

by Val_Creative



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Humor, Minor Injuries, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Gwen sees Arthur, he's helpless and pissed off with his hand jammed up the slot of the vending machine, and her best mate Merlin is recording a vine of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky I Met You

**Author's Note:**

> for anon's request: "tried to get the candy bar that didn’t drop out of the vending machine and now my hand is stuck can u help me out" // arwen modern au"
> 
> DEANONING FOR MERLICFICDRIVETHRU AS FIC'S AUTHOR!

_youve got to see this Gwens :))))_

She tosses her mobile on the end-stand, rubbing her towel into her wet, black curls. Merlin sent the text about eight minutes ago. Whatever on earth “this” could be… must be truly beastly if Merlin is excited. The dodgy little git.

*

The morning still cuts thin, bright rays through the cedar trees. Gwen’s hangover dutifully clings to her, to the point where even a mouthful of toothpaste can’t cleanse yesterday’s taste of lime and tequila. 

She grabs her chic sunglasses before exiting the girl’s dorms, wrapping a knitted, purple scarf around the lower part of her face, and locks the door behind her. Her roommate Morgana snores lightly, undisturbed.

Gwen loves Morgana, she does—Morgana’s the older sister she’s never had. A cuddly, often inebriated, and fiercely loyal older sister who has her back.

Morgana has a half-brother, about Gwen’s age, but she complains about “Arthur” so much that Gwen expects she should hate him on principle.

She  _doesn’t_ , but that’s not the point.

Another text from Merlin reveals his location, and Gwen rounds the campus, going up an lift. She refuses to massage her stinging temples.

As soon as the automated doors slide open, Gwen winces. There’s shouting.

” _I’m goiNG TO MAKE YOUR LIFE A LIVING HELL, EMRYS_!”

Merlin’s peals of laughter is the crumbs to the path she follows. She shouldn’t. It’s the weekend and her head is fucking killing her. Why is she awake?

It’s easy enough to spot Merlin—a gangly, overly pale thing swallowed up in his jumper and cheekbones prominent enough to making kissing slightly awkward and ouchy (she knows—she’s  _tried_ it, bless Merlin and his stars).

He’s got his mobile thrust out in front of him—at the vending machine? 

Gwen narrows her eyes. 

"Shh, Arthur. Watch your language. Children will be watching this."

The man sitting against the vending machine aims a well-placed kick at Merlin’s leg, but only grazes him. It should be a crime to be so ruggedly handsome, she thinks. He’s golden and with golden locks and muscles.  _Muscles_. Rugby muscles, but not bodybuilder muscles piled on muscles.

His right hand up to his wrist is… jammed up the slot of the vending machine.

Wait— _Arthur_?

"Do you mind telling me going on?" she asks, keeping her tone low. For the sake of her fucking fuck of a headache. Merlin’s head swivels in her direction, fast enough to make her dizzy, his teeth exposed in a playful smile.

"Arthur’s been caught stealing candy," he says, eyebrows wagging. 

The man’s face reddens. “I  _paid_ for the damn thing, you sodding—!” 

"This wouldn’t be Morgana’s brother, is it?" 

” _Unfortunately_ ,” Merlin comments offhandedly, smiling bigger. The vending machine rattles with the violent force of Arthur jerking himself free.

Before Gwen can open her mouth, either to tell him off or excuse herself to throw up in the next corridor, he cradles his arm to himself. Arthur’s wrist is covered in blood.

“Oh—oh my god.” For some reason, she forgets her hangover, dropping to her knees next to Arthur and wretching off her scarf. “Merlin, call the paramedics,” she orders, her own brown hands trembling as Gwen presses it against the gash along Arthur’s naked wrist.

His mouth strains up, and up close, she can see how flush and sweaty he is. 

"Stay still," Gwen orders, a bit more mildly. Gently.

Arthur nods, keeping his eyes on his wound, but then stares at her. Fuck all, he’s got the pretty boy  _blue_  eyes. Hollywood  _blue_. Gwen is not doing this right now.

He’s looking at her like she’s the centre of everything.

*

The damage is minimal. No stitches, but Arthur needs bandages.

His flat is tidy and small, and the bed isn’t made for vigorous sex. It groans ominously when Arthur’s hips smack her thighs, but she  _needs_ it. 

He knows exactly how to move his cock inside her, to go slow but  _deep_ , how to touch her breasts but not overstimulate her nipples or  _bite_ them, for christ’s sake. Arthur lets her straddle him and ride out her orgasm from the top—and she can’t remember the last time a guy  _fancied_  that. He’s a fucking gentleman.

He’s too perfect, just like Morgana complains about, and Gwen’s sure he’s arse over tits for her when they’ve started dating after a month.

It’s silly and wonderful how much she shares the inclination.


End file.
